


14 Days of of DA Lovers - Prompt Compilation

by FactoryKat



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 14 Days of Dragon Age Lovers, Action/Adventure, F/M, Female Friendship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Mild Blood, Nudity, Prompt Fill, Romance, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 08:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22966777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FactoryKat/pseuds/FactoryKat
Summary: I'm sure many people in the fandom already knew about and participated in this writing event for the month of love - February. It was a series of 14 prompts themed around Valentine's Day. I skipped Days 3 & 9 because I was just too busy, but here are at least 12 days of love and romance!
Relationships: Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Anders/Karl Thekla, Anders/Male Hawke, Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Fenris/Female Hawke
Kudos: 1





	1. Day One - Rose

**Author's Note:**

> These will all mostly be shorts, under 1k words or so!

“Oh Jasper, I wish you wouldn’t go charging headlong into the brambles like that. You know how much I loathe them, and you _know_ I’m going to chase after you.”

Jasper, the hound, was a solid beast with corded muscle underneath a vibrant mahogany coat, a prominent snout, and soulful brown eyes. He was, perhaps, the most obstinate Mabari Laerke had ever known, and her family had many hounds over the generations. Ears flicking and tongue protruding, he tilted his head as if to imply he understood but had no intention of heeding her request. She pouted and reached to pluck another pricker from the dog’s matted fur. It was an action she did not yearn to repeat but resigned herself to it every single time.

Overhead, the sun was warm against her back, protected only by minimal cloud cover and a thin blouse as her armor lay by her tent in a tidy pile of her belongings. The last few days of summer were dwindling, and the heat had begun to diminish more and more as each passed, but it was only minor relief. The breeze rolling off the stream that cut through their camp unquestionably helped, however, as did the shade from the myriad of trees dotting the perimeter of the clearing.

Brambles aside, Laerke had no complaints about her surroundings whenever they had an opportunity to stop before sundown and take a breather. For she found more and more the outdoors to be invigorating and nothing like she had ever known before joining the Grey Wardens. Even with the Blight nipping at their heels, something was so refreshing about being out in the wide-open world.

“Ouch!” 

Alistair’s pained yelp drew her attention away from the task at hand and the positively lively conversation she had been sharing with Jasper. She spotted her fellow Warden hunched over a grouping of shrubs, just near the bramble bushes the dog had chased a rabbit into some moments ago, and she watched him nurse his fingers, likely assaulted by the thorns. She gave the hound a few good scratches and stood up with laughter bubbling in the back of her throat. There was an endearing quality to him, one that always set her at ease despite the grim nature of the impending Blight. 

Alistair lifted his head, noticing her as she approached, and hastily scrambled to hide something behind his back. “Oh, heyyyy you… Lovely day, isn’t it?”

His peculiar actions extracted the giggles from her and Laerke leaned in, trying to peek at what he was hiding. “Alistair, what are you doing? What is that you’ve got?”

Alarmed, he stumbled and twisted his body awkwardly, even as she followed his every step. “What? What is what? I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, my dear.”

_What was he up to?_

Thoroughly invested in his cagey behavior, Laerke made a lunge for Alistair’s left, but her determination to investigate cost her. She had not paid close enough attention to her footing, and his desperate attempt to dodge disrupted her balance. Laerke struggled to regain her stability by latching onto Alistair, but only succeeding in bringing him with her as she slipped on the grass and tumbled backward right into the stream. They both landed in the waters with a shriek and a significantly sized splash.

Laerke emerged first with her head breaching the water’s surface, and she erupted into a fit of laughter as Alistair came up next. 

“Eugh, greaaat,” he muttered as he swam towards the bank to climb out. 

Reduced to little more than chuckles now, Laerke started her swim toward the shore and paused as she waded through a mass of what appeared to be flower petals. They practically shimmered as the light reflected off the drops of water pooling on their surface, and she spent a moment admiring the vision.

Heralded only by a brief glimpse of brown, another violent splash ruined her quiet awe. Ripples caused by the dog’s impact on the water drowned most of the petals and scattered the rest. With nothing else to distract her, as she pointedly ignored the silly hound paddling across the stream in search of fish, she made her way toward the shore where Alistair was waiting to lend her a hand.

“Sorry about that,” she smiled through her apology though it was no less sincere. Fortunately, Alistair had a good sense of humor. 

A grin split his handsome face, and he chuckled while helping her climb out. “Well, if I had known we were going to go for a swim, I would have packed my trousers.” 

It was Laerke’s turn to smile and chuckle. “Then I shall give plenty of warning next time.”

Once again, Alistair seemed fidgety, antsy even. She caught him shuffling awkwardly from the corner of her eye while she attempted to wring the water from her hair and slipped off her now very soggy boots. She only looked up when he cleared his throat.

“I erh wanted to show you something.”

She ceased her efforts when he produced a flower. A rose to be precise, one he must have plucked from the nearby bushes. The vivid red petals matched those in the water, and it occurred to her what Alistair had been hiding…


	2. Day Two - Handholding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Handholding with mHanders!

Anders was never more acutely aware of his circumstances, ones that he felt were nothing short of miraculous at best and exhilaratingly strange, than when Hawke’s hand was in his. With their fingers precariously entwined beneath the heavy wooden table, it was as if their love was some closely guarded secret that they both sought to hide from the world, yet quietly engaged in spaces where they risked exposure. He had to chuckle to himself over it, even felt his mouth forming a cheeky grin. 

“Hey Blondie, are you in?” Varric called at him from across the table and a squeeze in his palm pulled him out of his head, but Hawke did not relinquish his hand.

“You know I’m only playing because you insisted.” He quipped, trying to sound casual, and offered up a pair of cards without much deliberation. His chances of winning were no better than they were any other day, but there would be time to lament over his poor choices later.

Somewhere not too deep within the recesses of mind, his spirit passenger still remained wholly middle-of-the-ground when it came to his affections for the other mage.

That too amused him. He was hardly in need of approval from Justice.

Not when he felt entirely too confident it was possible to maintain a separation between love and duty.

Isabela breezed through the suite with another mug in hand, filled to the brim with Corff’s frothy ale that threatened to spill everywhere. “Oh, would you just look at the two of you. Holding hands like a couple of schoolboys. How _adorable_.”

She found her seat beside Varric who did not seem to share the same enthusiasm, though he was hardly critical, simply nonplussed in his own way. “Yeah, sure, adorable. Can we get on with the game or do you two need the room?” 

Anders scoffed, but turned his head to glimpse the twinkle in his lover’s blue eyes and the impish smirk on his face. Anders knew that look, he knew it well; it was the kind that made heat pool in his groin and rise into his chest where it could easily burn him from the inside out. 

And he would let it.


	3. Day Four - Napping Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris POV - set just after All That Remains

Fenris found himself startled awake by an abhorrent sound, like the subtle rolling of thunder but from somewhere below as opposed to above. In spite of his sleep-addled mind, he eventually came to the rational conclusion that it was Zeus. The hound's excessive snoring drowned out even the rain falling in sheets outside and the crackling hearth just meters away from the oversized bed. Fenris met with resistance as he moved to sit up and panic set in immediately. However, once the haze of slumber dissipated and allowed him the use of his full mental faculties, it passed. A simple glance at his surroundings and the arms wrapped steadfastly around him were a sufficient reminder of what was happening.

Hawke.

Hawke had just lost her mother, and he remembered now, coming to check on her after the incident. The anguish in her face had done more than enough to convince him to stay by her side, to provide what little support he could in her hour of need. Fenris knew Devyn was a strong woman, tenacious on the field of battle, and not known to bend to the whim of others so quickly, but she was still human. She was not unfeeling, and seeing the anguish in her face had pained him as if someone had reached into _his_ chest and clutched his heart. They had exchanged limited conversation, mostly idle chatter to distract themselves, distract her, while carefully avoiding the subject of why he left. For it was neither the place nor appropriate time to do so.

At what point he had fallen asleep beside her, he did not know. He had gotten up to leave, politely excusing himself after Hawke had finally dozed off, exhausted by her grief. By the time he stepped over the dutiful hound keeping watch, she had awoken enough to call out to him.

_"Stay," she pleaded languidly with sea-green eyes glassy and rimmed with red. "Please, Fenris. I need you more than you think."_

He had not been about to deny her request, to coldly abandon her after experiencing such a tragedy. His feelings were complicated, but being there for her, if nothing else but as a friend, was the least he could do.

Fenris used the opportunity to observe Hawke, to admire the way her hair fell across her face in soft but loose brown curls. He pinpointed every freckle across her cheeks and nose and recalled the dusting of them across her shoulders, along her sternum and down her chest-

_Venhedis._

He was not a weak-willed man, but Hawke was soft, warm, and had been nothing short of good to him. To resist her took considerable effort, but he exhaled his troubles into the quiet and let his head fall back against the pillow. 


	4. Day Five - Love Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commander Cullen has many fans, which his dear Inquisitor finds very amusing.

Another day, another looming pile of missives, paperwork, and letters stacked haphazardly on his desk just waiting for him to spare them a second glance. Cullen stood with his back straight, and arms clasped loosely behind him while he ventured to focus on the messenger still in his office, rattling off their report. His mind was elsewhere, making it a trial to listen intently. He cast a dubious glance at the pile from the corner of his eye and exhaled through his nose quietly. 

A rapping at the door that startled the scout was a merciful break, and Cullen resigned to leaning over his desk. "Yes? What is it?" When the door creaked open, and a head of auburn broached the threshold, he promptly stood at attention. "Gen-" Clearing his throat, he composed himself. "I mean, Inquisitor. Thank you for coming by at such short notice." 

When Cullen laid his eyes on the scout, they respectfully bowed their head towards Genevieve with a murmured, "Your Worship."

She graciously returned the gesture before he turned and left them to conduct whatever business they had. 

Once the door closed, echoing as wood and stone shook from the force, the tension fled from him. Cullen smiled for what felt like the first time all day as Gen approached, beaming at him. "Every time you walk through that door, I am reminded of just how lucky I am." 

"Is that so?" 

She stepped right into his arms, open and welcoming. He held onto her, burying his nose in the hair on top of her head long enough to take in the scents of soap, of rain, and just a trace of something sweet. Much as he did enjoy his work, Gen was a pleasant distraction from the banality of today's duties. Even her briefest visits were enough to tame his fraying attention span, allowing him to resume his full focus and complete his commitments. Cullen chuckled appreciatively. "Very much so, yes. How has your day been?"

"Oh, you know, the usual." With a smile on her lips, she pulled away to idly examine the interior of his office as she was wont to do quite often. "Josephine is surprisingly good at keeping me busy when there isn't a world-ending crisis happening. I'm sure I'll have the names of every noble house in Antiva and Nevarra memorized by the end of the week." 

His eyes chased her hands as they roamed over the aging spines of the books collecting dust on his shelves. It was less that he did not read, but more about finding the time. She joked, but Gen was unfortunately right about how much work there was to be done in this so-called time of peace. The very thought was mind-boggling and frustrating. Especially so when it still left them so few opportunities to spend any meaningful amount of time together. 

Finally, Cullen slid into the chair behind his desk as she breezed around towards the front and reached to tidy the tottering stack of documents with merriment glittering in her eyes. "More love letters, I take it?"

"Please don't call them-" he stammered, "Maker's _breath_. They just keep coming." Cullen breathed sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose. While he certainly appreciated her good humor about it all, that didn't make them any less awkward to receive. 

She laughed aloud, and the sound was infectious, happy. Knowing that he was the source of such joy was nothing short of delightful.

...

Days later, a scout arrived with a delivery, another note, on parchment Cullen swore he had seen leave his own office before. It dawned on him why, when he recognized the elegant penmanship after shyly opening the letter to peek at the contents. A short scan of the page made his face hot, and he fought back a slew of inappropriate thoughts. 

_Maker's mercy, that woman_ …


	6. Day Seven - Love Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nell Surana is no fool. She knows Anders is full of it when he tries to pretend there is nothing between him and Karl.

"You like him." 

"No, I don't." 

" _Yes_ , you do." If she sounded exasperated, it was only in good fun, but Nell Surana was no fool. Even as she hung, upside down on the bookshelf from her knees staring at her friend's back. Anders sat hunched over a textbook, some tome or another he pulled off the shelf to keep up the appearances of studying while they chatted. The scorn in his voice when he sighed only made her laugh. 

Eventually, he turned around, just as she righted herself and jumped down to stand on the floor proper (after catching one of the older Enchanters giving her the eye). "And even if I did, which I don't, keep your nose out of my business, Surana."

Nell said nothing in response as she flicked her fellow mage in the nose.

"OW!" Anders cried out as he touched the appendage, "You bloody brat!"

Such was the depth of her friendship with Anders. The two of them made a habit of tormenting one another in only the most affectionate and humorous ways. She truly well admired the older mage and thought of him fondly as a sibling-like figure. Nell had no real siblings, at least not that she was ever aware of before leaving the Denerim Alienage. So few of the other mages were relatable enough that she had any desire to latch onto them much in the way she had with Anders, Jowan, Amell, and even Alim. Sometimes.

They were enough, though.

"Fine, but I've seen you staring at him in classes. He's not half bad looking, bit of a bookworm, though." She slid onto the bench beside Anders and rested her chin on her folded arms. 

He scoffed and noisily closed the book he hadn't even been reading, drawing the eye of other apprentices and some of the enchanters alike. "He's a Senior Enchanter for your information, and I would be incredibly stupid to get involved with someone like him."

Sitting up again, Nell offered her usual dose of skepticism. "As if that has ever stopped you before?"

Anders rose from the table and scooped her up under his arm in a single, smooth action. Nell squealed and flailed, startled as he unceremoniously lifted out of her seat, carrying her like a parcel. "I _know_ that I'm trouble, but there is a line even I'm smart enough not to cross thank you." 

_...Later..._

_"Are you sure? Once we start, I won't be able to stop."_

Anders had one of those unmistakable voices, even at his age. Nell had been on her way back to the apprentice dormitories to change into some clean robes after a magical mishap. The halls of the tower were sparse at this hour, as most of her fellow mages were in the midst of afternoon lessons, so voices drifting from one of the rooms could be heard that much easier. She paused just beyond the door and flattened herself against the wall to listen carefully.

_"Did you just … lick me?"_

Karl's voice wasn't significantly deeper, but it was softer, fitting for someone like him. Nell's hands flew to her mouth to stifle the giggles threatening to spill from her lips. 

_"Don't be so rough; there can't be any marks-"_

Her curiosity peaked and finally got the best of her enough that she quietly tip-toed closer to the door, slightly ajar and fortunately not latched. Significant effort went into making her steps silent and avoiding making much noise at all so that she could get a closer look at what the two were doing. At least until a hand gripped her by the arm and yanked her back. Spooked, Nell turned to find the offender and came face to face with Amell, who put a finger to her lips.

"Shhh."

Jerking her head towards the door, the older girl released her arm intended for her to follow. Nell obliged, but not without a disappointed pout. Once they were outside the room again, she folded her arms over her small chest defiantly. "What gives?"

"Surana!" Amell hissed, frowning at her. "You should be in class. Irving sent me to find you. What are you doing?"

_"Maker, I want you so much. You're all I think about anymore…"_

Nell had never seen anyone's face turn red so quickly before, but watching her friend's expression turn from stern to mortified was too good. Again she had to stop herself from erupting into a slew of giggles and running off to let poor Amell process what she just heard alone. 

"Wanna go spy on the lovebirds with me?" 

For a moment, the other mage pondered what the elf had just asked, until she meekly replied, face still very much flushed. "I'm going to regret this, but - _yes_."


	8. Day Ten: Surprise Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair is just a bundle of nerves when it comes to his fellow Grey Warden but he has nothing to worry about.

As if giving her that rose hadn't been nerve-wracking enough. Alistair wiped the palms of his hands on his breeches and sucked in a breath through flared nostrils as he approached his fellow Warden. Laerke was resting with her back against a tall oak, immersed in a tattered book she had picked up somewhere along their travels. Despite the late hour, the moon hung gleaming and bright in the sky above, casting enough light so she could read. 

Part of him hated the idea of disturbing her, not when she seemed to be enjoying the peace after yet another laborious day, but he couldn't stop Talking to her shouldn't be so, so -

"Alistair?" 

The sound of her voice startled him, and he nearly jolted, whipping his head up to see her lovely face partially contorted in what he could only describe as a mild concern. _Great._ She probably thought he was either mad (he had just been talking to himself after all) or going to be grievously ill. 

He squinted in deep thought for only a moment before straightening his back and clearing his throat. Seeing this did nothing for Laerke's confusion, he realized. Alistair saw the way her eyes narrowed curiously and the way she leaned in closer. Body language was universal, he knew that, and he knew what it meant in this case. As if his racing pulse and the gelatinous consistency of his innards weren't enough of an indicator.

_Maker's breath_ , he mentally chastised himself, while trying to remain calm on the outside.

"So," he began with as much enthusiasm as his nerves allowed him to muster. "All this time we've spent together - you know: the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us…" he paused to gauge her reaction.

Instead, his fair-haired companion remained quiet, staring back with those inquisitive blue eyes of hers. Eyes that both urged him to continue and almost made him want to swallow his tongue. 

"Right, yes. Uh, well, do you think you'll miss it? Once it's over?"

Contemplation crossed her face, as did a little smile. Alistair watched the corners of her lips curl _just so_ , and her expression softened in the same way it had when he had offered her the rose weeks ago. Alistair knew at that moment that he was doomed. He was doomed to be a jittery fool whenever his fellow Warden so much as looked at him. 

"Miss all of the fighting or miss you?" There was an impish quality to her smirk now, One he felt the courage to match, especially after an answer like that.

His flustered chuckle surely did him no favors, but it spilled out before he could gather his wits about him. "Well, I - both? This might sound … strange," Alistair paused to consider how it felt with him looming over her, but she hardly seemed perturbed by it. So he persisted, breaking out into a full-on ramble. "If only considering we haven't known each other for very long but I've come to care for you — a great deal. I think - I think maybe it's because we've gone through so much together, I don't know. Maybe I'm just imagining it. I mean, I could be fooling myself-" 

Alistair hadn't noticed Laerke set down her book and stand up, far too absorbed in maintaining his composure. Her hands upon his face and her lips pressed against his were the only things his mind registered, and only _after_ it had happened. 

His breath effectively stolen by the surprise kiss, he quietly gasped the moment she retracted from him, and they shared a glance. A healthy flush of pink colored her cheeks, and her eyes (contrasting vividly against the blushing) were wide and wild, mirroring his astonishment quite well. 

"I'm so sorry I didn't mean to interrupt what you were saying!" She stammered, while visibly fighting back what he interpreted as excitement. 

Relief swelled within his chest, and his cheeks burned. He wanted to reply, to say something witty as a follow-up, but his hands did the talking for him instead as they brushed away loose strands of hair from the lady Cousland's face and fingers grazed the shell of her ear. "Maker's breath, but you're beautiful. I am a lucky man…"

She made a sound - something like an appreciative squeak or perhaps a moan - and ducked her head to hide the coquettish smile that had replaced her playful grin from earlier. Alistair sought out her lips with his, taking the initiative this time and met them with a careful but deliberate pace. All of his expectations were met and changed at once. He focused on the gentle firmness of her lips this time, committing the sensation to memory. She was warm and pliant against his chest now, and the earthy smells of dirt and dog clinging to her were a welcome intrusion upon his senses. 

If the world could stop and leave them like this for a while, well, Alistair would be the last person to complain.


	10. Day Twelve - Watching the Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While at Skyhold, prior to the confrontation with Erimond, Hawke finds himself witness to a sight most unexpected.

"I'm telling you, Hawke! You should have seen her face; it was priceless." Varric was jovial, animated and lively in a way that Wyatt had not seen since before Kirkwall's untimely collapse. He laughed along with the dwarf as they strolled, exchanging stories and banter as if no time had passed. It was good, seeing him come alive again in this brief reprieve they had before getting back down to business. It was a business that sat like a heavy stone in Hawke's gut. 

Corypheus. 

The Wardens. 

In a way, it was like he was still in Kirkwall, in the City of Chains where tragedy, chaos, and unrest was an everyday occurrence, and a simple string of _just bad luck_ was a blessing by the Maker himself. 

There was always _something_. 

Soldiers, scouts, and civilians chirped in greeting as they passed, some merely being polite, others acknowledging the Champion with awkward reverence. Just as many more bodies milled about, paying little mind to the dwarf and his much taller, redheaded companion. Truthfully, he hadn't expected much for recognition dressed down as he was. If anything was quick to give him away, it was the armor. The "Mantle of the Champion," as a particular dwarf had dubbed it in a _certain_ novelization of his exploits, was somewhat iconic after all. He harbored mixed emotions on the subject now, but never resentment. 

Pointedly ignoring the stares and whispers, Hawke whistled sharply. He turned his eyes up and away from Varric, drinking in the sight of sprawling battlements and climbing towers set against snow-capped peaks reaching for the heavens. Skyhold was an admirable expanse, a sturdy, fortified compound that seemed all too appropriate for something like the Inquisition. "Seriously, Varric, this place is incredible. I feel like I'd need a map to find my way around every day!"

The dwarf's husky laugh was a helpful reminder of simpler times. Well, life in Kirkwall had never been _simple. Still, the_ bright beacons of happiness shining in between saving the city from itself and staving off one disaster only to fall into another were ones Hawke promised never to forget. "Tell me about it! Could you imagine if Daisy were here?"

They traversed the courtyard, still deaf and blind to the world around them while they wistfully engaged in familiar banter, speaking of old friends and fond memories. Not even the clangs of steel and enthusiastic clamor just ahead could breach their inner circle at that moment. "Hah! Merrill would have somehow found her way into the-"

"Focus! Do not waver!" A distinct voice cut clear above the noise, carrying across the courtyard. 

The familiar timbre bounced around in Hawke's mind as he cast a glance past the growing crowd. Skyhold's courtyard boasted what appeared to be a sparring ring, a place for the soldiers to practice or let off some steam. Several uniformed men were already engaged in close combat, swords drawn and shields up. 

"Do not hesitate, do not second guess-" barked a tall figure from outside the ring. Steel pauldrons and vambraces glinted in the afternoon sun, and the mane of red fur swathed across the man's back did much to obscure any distinguishing features. The commanding tone summoned a swell of anxiety, and Hawke exchanged furtive glances with Varric. 

"Sounds like Curly. Probably best to avoid him. For now." 

"Curly?" Tawny brows furrowed as Hawke continued stalking forward to satisfy his curiosity and give reasons for the gnawing in his gut. 

Inquisition soldiers lunged forth at one another, swinging their blades and steadying their shields to defend against incoming blows. Wood clattered, and steel sang as they met. The same voice remained a constant, a source of inspiration and leadership to the men within the ring. "Good! Take charge and strike at your opponents - excellent work!"

"Hawke," Varric called several steps behind, with concern raising the pitch of his voice like it always did. "Maybe we should go catch up with the Inquisitor. I think you two would really hit it off, and she plays a mean game of Wicked Grace!" There was no deterring Wyatt, however. He strafed around a few observers to glimpse the head of lightly tousled blonde hair. Familiar anger bubbled to the surface, but where he expected to see the heavy plate emblazoned with the flaming sword of the Templar Order, Hawke found fur and silk over steel and leathers. The soft profile came as a surprise, and Varric's nudging elbow redirected Hawke's attention to another.

She descended the stairs with a carefully restrained bounce to her step, auburn hair catching the light as she crossed the yard towards the sparring ring. Silence fell over the two friends as they watched the scene unfold. Cullen's head lifted, diverting his focus away from his men, and Hawke could see the moment when all pride and confidence trickled away, leaving behind nervous ticks and silent awe. The Inquisitor approached the former Knight-Captain with no reservation, not a trace of fear in her bright smile. Her posture was relaxed, with arms loose at her sides and stride slowing as she reached the ring and its commander.

"She _does_ know he was a templar, right?" Hawke quipped, without turning his head to look at Varric. Far be it from him to cast judgment, but it was a curious sight watching a once-circle mage greet the former Knight-Captain with such fondness. Hawke knew the dance they performed rather intimately. It was one of shy smiles, careful and deliberate touches, sharing space. It was also huddled together in a tent watching the sunset together, and wondering how many more theyao would get…

While he couldn't really picture Cullen and the Inquisitor doing the last one _,_ that wasn't the point.

He observed them quietly for a few more minutes. The Inquisitor stood close and leaned forward over the fence, her investment in the fights both professional and personal. Cullen had since ceased his duties overseeing the men in favor of entertaining the Lady Trevelyan. Their voices were whispers from this distance, and Hawke couldn't hear the words they exchanged, but it wasn't necessary. Not when he knew that too. His mind already filled in the blanks with positive affirmations of love and adoration spoken between two people who couldn't be more right for each other. Not that he knew if the former templar and Inquisitor were necessarily right _, but,_ as he drew on his own experiences, it was easy to piece together.

All the resentment and anger that had been stewing, simmering in the pit of his stomach, petered out. What took its place was a dull ache snaking around his heart and squeezing. 

_I promise I won't be long..._

He snorted, folding his arms across his chest and shuffled his feet. "Well. Can't say I saw that coming." 

Beside him, Varric chuckled. "Tell me about it. Didn't know Curly had it in him." He nudged his friend once more, a wordless suggestion to leave them to it. "You and Blondie doing good? Keeping him out of trouble?" 

Hawke took the hint, and a grin chased away his frown, pulling his lips into a smug curl. They turned heel and continued across the yard towards the tavern. "Varric, you know better than any that _I'm_ the one you should worry about getting into trouble." 

"You have a point there, Hawke. And to think, the seeker wanted _you_ for Inquisitor!" The door opened with minimal effort, permitting them entry into the warmly lit bar, alive with song and drink. Two seats at the counter awaited them, and old friends once again lost themselves in idle conversation.


	11. Day Thirteen - Love Bites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knowing when his beloved Inquisitor needs him the most is something Cullen can say with confidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild NSFW Warning - Nudity and romance

"You are made of comets and stars. Remember that," Cullen whispered, cradling her head between his palms while never breaking his gaze. Even with the look of quiet fury boiling behind her mask of neutrality, he kept his tone soft. The last thing he ever wished to do was make her feel at fault for the things her parents said.

Genevieve still wore a frown on her lovely face, "Cullen-" but he pressed a gentle finger to her lips, interrupting her protest.

"Do not let anyone treat you as if you are dirt and dust."

She had come to him that evening with the letter, practically storming his office in a flurry. There were no tears, no shouting, but no smiles or laughter either. Instead, it was more like a cloud hanging over her, an ominous grey cloud heavy with rain threatening to break free and flood the lands. It was an apt metaphor, considering her magical profinity, but Cullen could not betray his own heart and say it didn't worry him to see Gen in this state. He had watched her walk into battle with her head high many times. Even while terrified, there had been determination gleaming in those eyes of hers.

This was an entirely different battle that she was facing, his beloved Inquisitor. One that had her thoroughly defeated for the first time.

Cullen saw the shift in her before she slipped her shirt over her head, exposing her breast band, and revealing soft, flushed skin. She was on him in a moment, pressing her mouth against his own long before he could question. All protest or confusion was lost to the void once she climbed into his lap and leaned into him.

"I love you, Cullen," Gen murmured against his neck, her lips dragging from his mouth and across his jaw to reach it. Her fingernails skimmed across his scalp while her teeth lightly grazed the outer shell of his ear. 

He shivered and arched his body to greet her, to encourage her. "And I love you, Genevieve."

She pulled away too suddenly, startling him, and he perhaps wondered if he shouldn't have reciprocated so quickly. She assuaged his worries easily by offering him a hand, and he let her lead him by the arm towards the ladder, meaning to take this to his bedroom. Cullen was more than happy to oblige. 

All remnants of clothing were shed soon after reaching the loft, and for a moment, he admired the striking woman in front of him, taking in the gentle curves of her figure. She was a sight to behold, he thought, before unceremoniously swooping in to lift her into his arms. Gen had a surprising figure, one that clothing had a way of concealing from him. Pleasantly filled out for a mage, she boasted long legs, thicker thighs, and wide hips; and of course, she had the upper body strength necessary to wield a stave or swing around that spectral sword of hers. He was the sort of man to appreciate every element of his partner, from a pair of beautiful eyes to every last mole or freckle. Still, it was hard to deny his body's response to seeing her ever so slightly illuminated by the light of the setting sun, making her already auburn-red hair shine like fire.

There wasn't a trace of gloom in her eyes anymore as he gently braced her against the wall to kiss and nibble the exposed flesh of her soft stomach. Every touch made her squirm and squeal, which did little to deter him. Instead, he carried her over to the bed and laid her against the quilts and furs where he wasted no time lauding her with kisses, ambitiously trying to touch every inch of glorious skin. She sucked in sharp breaths as he nipped here and there, but not once did she shy away from him.

She _did_ stare up at him with an unspoken challenge in her eyes that would have kindled a fire within his loins were he not already immensely turned on. 

_Maker_ , she knew how to tease him just by doing so little.


	12. Day Fourteen - NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laerke appreciates Alistair's idea of a wake-up call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the title says - Mild NSFW warning. Nudity mention and romance.

Dim rays streamed through the oversized windows facing their bed and bathed the room in warm, but very much unwelcome light. Laerke was acutely aware of cold air caressing her hip and back, highlighting the immediately obvious - Alistair was already up. Roughness against her cheek provoked a groan from her throat, and before long, there was hot breath tickling the sensitive curve of her neck. A nose mashed itself beneath her chin as firm lips attacked. Their efforts became relentless the more she squirmed to not only shield her eyes from the blaring brightness but to fight off the affectionate attacker.

"Nnnh, Ali no," she mourned between fits of laughter. His mouth smiled against her cheek, turning into kisses that traveled downwards. 

"Ali, _yes_." He whispered between tender pecks that ventured further across her chest and over the curve of her breast. "Come on." 

Giggles escaped parted lips, followed by a sudden but quiet breath. "Perhaps if I had some motivation, I could be convinced." Laerke turned to expose her body to him as he gradually drew back the sheets. 

"Is that so?" His words weren't an objection, so she urged him on, arching her back and coiling her arms around his neck. Her fingers gained purchase first on his shoulders and then laced themselves in tousled chestnut hair. He traced a line along her chest, to the top of her pelvis, and glided along her thigh. His palm fit comfortably around the curve of her behind, and there it rested while the other took a pale pink nipple gingerly between his fingertips. "Well, my dear, just how much motivation do you need?"

Laerke felt her toes scrunch and pinched her bottom lip between her teeth as his fingers continued the job they had begun and paid careful mind to the other breast. She gasped in response and still urged him to carry on, curling her fingers tighter in his hair that he hummed a moan against her body. Feeling Alistair's scruff against her inner thigh made her squeal with laughter and pull away. He chuckled, catching her by the leg and smiled rather triumphantly, a smile that never failed to warm her cheeks and make her feel like the luckiest woman in all Thedas as his kisses continued down the length of her calf. Still smiling at her, though perhaps a little more smug than before, he pulled away from her completely. The jarring absence of warmth from her beloved's firm and calloused hands exploring every inch of her was incredibly frustrating. 

She groaned low in her throat as Alistair stood up straight with a hand out for her, not bothering to wipe the smirk off his handsome face. "Come now, busy day ahead."

Oh, he was terrible and yet devious. They were things Laerke had never expected from a man like him and had been pleasantly surprised to discover even before their marriage. She folded her arms over her chest as she stared back with playful contempt. "Is it _truly_ regicide if the king teases his wife so cruelly?"

Laughter rolled out of his chest as he swooped in to slip his arms underneath her still bare form and hoisted her up, startling her. "Very funny. I promise I will make it up to you. In fact, you can hold me to it, and if I don't, then, well, the killing might be justified."

Coyly she stared at him, passing judgment. “Hmm. Acceptable.” It was too much to hold back her smile and the chuckles of amusement. 

His expression was soft, adoring. He was her wonderfully sappy, lovestruck Warden again at that very moment. “I love how I can just look at you, and be happy."

Larke felt the warmth as it pooled in her cheeks. “Oh, Alistair. You hopeless romantic.”

Gingerly, he set her back down on both feet and planted the gentlest of kisses to the top of her head. “It’s easy to be romantic when I have you, my dear. Now, you best get dressed because, _Maker’s breath_ you’re making it very hard for me to resist you, you know.”


End file.
